The Beginning of the End
by SasuSakuisforalways
Summary: This must be the bitter pain of loss. The pain that I've heard never goes away. The pain that will eventually destroy you.
1. Chapter 1

It was my choice to leave, so why does it hurt so much.

The truth is that I still hold weakness, sorrow.

Everyday, I suffer the pain of her words; how beautiful they had been, how I had willingly given up a future I would have wanted for myself.

I still remember her eyes at that very moment, their piercing beauty. I still remember the sorrow in them— the tears that ran down her cheeks.

I still remember the solitary thank you I gave her. It lit her eyes like fire; some spark of hope in her soul.

Now all I can hope is that she's not dead; never knowing, no way of seeing light.

I am alone now; there's no one left for me now, and I doubt she'd want me back. I have to learn to accept that maybe this was how it was going to be anyway, no matter how painful it is thinking that I'll never see her again.

The rain is pouring down outside; I can hear it; I can smell it. The smell of mud, of wet cement. I taste the bitter memories upon the tip of my tongue. I can pretend to be strong, but at the end of the day, the haunting memories return, and as I lay here, I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

This must be the bitter pain of loss. The pain that I've heard never goes away. The pain that will eventually destroy you.

I can see her face—feel her hair. She doesn't remember who I am; why would she?

There is nothing I can do to change my fate; this is it. This is the beginning of the end.

It was my choice, so why does it hurt so much? I fear I will never discover the answer to this. Without her, my life is only a mess of questions and puzzles that are left unanswered.

The pain will never let up. It's always with me. Always, except when I'm with her.

She is in my every thought—my every dream. Imagining life without her is what I wish I could do; never would I truly leave her.

The sorrow eats away at my heart, for there is no one who could possibly know—there is no one who can help. The beginning of the end.

But the end, for me, will never come; it'll only get worse from here, and it will never disappear.

There is no one left to turn to—so many, many things I left unsaid.

It was as she had taken her last breath and gone under. Now there is nothing left; no hope, no life, no light.

It is a huge black hole in the center of me that slowly consumes anything I have left.

And I'll never heal from this. This is all. There's never going to be a happily ever after for me, because there's no time left. It's over; my time's up.

And it's all gone—all of the almost nothing I had. Gone.

The Beginning of the End.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm dreaming; I must be.

She's here with me, eyes sparkling, hair shining.

She's running towards me as if to embrace me. I can't touch her; it's as if I'm not real, not solid. She passes through me, like I don't exist, landing in a crumpled heap on the edge of the balcony. I'm trying to help her, but there is nothing I can do.

It's a never ending nightmare. The last light disappears from her eyes, and she no longer breathes.

There's nothing I can do.

Other times I have dreamt of her, she has been there, holding my hand. She's kissed my lips. This time all that is left of her is a twisted memory of what she was like when she was alive. And there is nothing left but the pain.

It scorches through me, stinging my eyes and eating away at my faith that she still lives somewhere.

No matter how many times I tell myself that she must be fine, I cannot ever truly believe it.

There has never been a place for people like me; my only place was with her, and I willingly gave that up. Sitting here, I can't help wondering how my life might have been had I stayed in Konoha.

The rain is trickling down my cheeks, mixing in with the tears and the blood from the reopened cut on the left side of my forehead.

Every raindrop, to me, represents a memory of her that I will eventually lose. Every second I spent in her company—every time she embraced me, and I didn't show any affection on return.

There are so many, many regrets that I hold in my heart—so many unfinished stories, so many abandoned fantasies. They hold nothing for me now, not a thought, not a feeling, not a word: emptiness. They have neither the capacity to hold anything nor the will.

I'm dreaming again.

She walks across the water; ripples encircle the place where she has set her foot down. Tears flow down her face as she stands, gazing into my eyes. I can't remember when last I saw such beauty infused in something so sad; perhaps it was a dying butterfly.

Her teardrops land in the water below her, turning into blue light each time they hit the surface. They are her memories of me; her memories of me are dying, but at least she doesn't have to suffer like I do. At least she still has a reason to live, a will to live. Maybe, she'll still remember me the moment that I die and the moment she dies.

For now, that is all I could ask for. Just to remember me.

She extends her hand out to me, offering a path out of sadness. At least for a while, I can be free.

This is her world. I can see all the memories of me she still holds dear. The memories are flickering orbs of light; light so pure that I can barely stand to look at them. She holds one out to show to me; it is slightly dimmer when it is in her hand.

It's me. Me when I caught her fall from being almost strangled.

There is a new memory she holds. It is of herself embracing me at the hospital. Looking back into my own eyes, I can see love in them. She never saw that; she never knew. She would never know. She would never know, because I hadn't cared enough to ensure that she felt loved.

A final memory is held out to me; there isn't anything in it. Falling against me, I feel her lips press to mine. The pain is gone; all I feel is how much love I have for her.

Looking down at the memory, I see the events of the few moments passed replaying to me.

The fantasy of a young soul; so innocent. I see now that I shall never understand just how hard it is on her. Not even my own pain could match hers—at least I know that she loved me. At least I have felt love before.

I can see her face; her eyes are aglow. The tears again betray me, slipping down my face. She brushes them away with her fingertip, tears sliding down her own face.

Caressing my cheek, she kisses me once more and then fades back into the memories.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! It's Valentines Day. Guess who doesn't have a date? Me.

If you're looking for inspiration to write depressing things like the one below, just find a guy to fall in love with, go to shcool hoping to ask him to be your valentine, and then find out (from your friend) that he is at home, sulking because the girl he's in love with (you had no prior knowlege of this) isn't interested.

* * *

Dread. The feeling that the life is being sucked out of your veins, almost identical to fear. The only difference is that dread cannot be overcome by a mere fluke. Dread. Dread. Dread. Dread rhymes with dead. Why? Why do all cruel, gruesome, vindictive words so resemble their roots? How can our blatant, worldly composure suffer the occupation of such atrocities without absconding our meek, feeble bodies? As the venin seeps into the pores of our skin, how could we obtain strength enough to evade its path? How, not knowingly, do we circumvent ourselves and go on with our lives, pretending not a reminiscent scratch of the agonizing pain and loss is there?


End file.
